Remember
the good old days, when climate change wasn’t causing toddlers to have heart
attacks?
Boy howdy, am I sick of lies and death. You?
I can’t handle Las Vegas for more than about 48 hours. I’m actually a fairly decent gambler, inasmuch as the moment I’m up, I walk away from the table and spend the rest of the trip at the Bellagio buffet or watching a Cirque du Soleil show (I’ve yet to be chosen as a volunteer from the audience; they always pick the guy wearing a harness).
Rather, I get tired of being crowd-controlled. Every aspect of the place, from the direction of the hallways to the angle of the air conditioners, to the ugliness of the carpets is engineered to make you move and behave as some dopey marketing expert would prefer. The constant manipulation gnaws at my soul.
This is how it feels to live in the Current Year.
Everything is a story, a narrative, a strictly enforced catechism of nonsense that no one really believes but everyone is obliged to repeat. You see this, you’re living it, and you are likely frustrated by it, too. If you immediately understood the first line of this column, you know of which I speak.
Discussion of lies, death, and stupidity leads us, of course, to Justin Trudeau. As you may have seen, Justin has cut off all his hair, like some chick getting over a breakup.
In terms of immutable characteristics, people cannot help the way they look. This is something we should be taught in childhood and, if we develop human empathy, come to appreciate as adults. As a general rule, if you are going to comment on a person’s appearance, it ought to be a glowing compliment.
But then, there are choices. If you decide to get a tattoo across your forehead that reads “Don’t F*ck with Mr. Zero” or a trauma haircut like Justin’s, well – game on.
Something is up with that guy (something is always up with that guy, amirite?) and it augurs well for us.
As Perceval said to King Arthur in the underrated 1981 epic, Excalibur: “You and the land are one.” Similarly, Justin personifies the Globalist-WEF-Davos-Tower-of-Babel Brigade (this is a cousin to Ben Shapiro’s observation that Justin is what would happen if the song “Imagine” took human form and then ate a Tide Pod).
Whatever is eating at Justin, it isn’t so much about electoral prospects. I am on record as predicting he has pranced through his last race. Corrupted as elections might be across the West, no amount of snow-fortification could shore up enough votes to return Justin to power if Canadians get another chance to pass judgment on him.
Besides, Justin has entered into a pact with Canada’s millionaire socialists, the New Democratic Party, to keep him in power until 2025. For what it’s worth, I have also predicted this grotesque partnership will not last that long. The human toll of being so hated as Justin and his commie enablers will prove too much. The haircut, I think, is part of that.
Someone whose name I forget, but whom I have often plagiarized, averred that the next World War would be between citizens and their own governments. Across Europe, North America, and even Asia, one sees how this might be correct. And the people are growing stronger.
Did the fall of Sri Lanka cause Justin to slump into the salon chair and say, “Gimme the Pee-wee Herman”?
It’s possible. These secret-handshake wankjobs who run everything talk to each other, and they are privy to inside information. Some fronts are going well for them – they’re able to lock up freedom protestors like Tamara Lich and Pat King, as well as anyone who so much as changed planes at Dulles on January 6, while releasing not a single name from Ghislaine Maxwell’s client list – whereas others are not (Italy and the Netherlands come to mind).
The Death Sniffles and attendant injection campaign did not go as they had hoped. Indeed, when all comes to light, the fallout may see some of our overlords ascending scaffolds.
In every case, the momentum is in one direction. Literally no sane person alive today is developing greater trust in government, central planning, corporate media, and globalist bureaucracy. There is a long struggle ahead, but people are waking up.
But let us return, as we must, to Justin’s coiffure. They say the eyes are the window to the soul but, for Justin, it may be his hair.
I have learned, particularly in the past two years, that there is no point trying to convince people who do not see what you do. Perhaps you have come to the same conclusion. It’s the reason I don’t write as much as I used to, and why I certainly don’t argue in person.
If, for example, people look at the faces of Chuck Schumer, Nancy Pelosi, Bill Gates, Joe Biden, et al., and don’t immediately see satanic malice and demonic confusion, there is not much for us to say to each other about it. Yes, each of those named is a child of God, with hope while they breathe, yada-yada but, in practical terms, they wield outsized power and do not wish us well.
I used to ask regarding Hillary Clinton – could you ever imagine her committing a selfless act of kindness for another human being? Anything, really, but something done purely out of love, with no ulterior motive or manipulation behind it? Me neither.
Since Justin first flounced onto the scene, I’ve maintained there are two types of Canadians – those who find him embarrassing, and those who do not. It is an unbridgeable gap.
Even before he opens his mouth to talk about rearranging space and time, or to wonder aloud where the white goes when the snow melts, his visage has always appealed to me like one of those from the parade of horribles listed above.
That combination of imperiousness and stupidity, arrogance and spite, were written clear as day across his face, at least to my looking. Now, with his shimmy-mane shorn, I wonder if others see it, too.
Moreover, perhaps he wanted it that way. People tell you who they are. They want you to know, even – and perhaps especially – if it’s an ugly tale.
For years, I never paid much attention to the rumors that Justin was Fidel Castro’s son. It seemed like the sort of sensationalist, mean-spirited thing folks say about famous people they don’t like. Besides which, no one can help who their parents are.
But now, with the jawline and nose and such made more prominent, of COURSE he’s Fidel, Jr. (not to mention, Justin’s demonstrated penchant for unleashing war measures upon his own people, seizing bank accounts, and locking up political opponents).
As stated, elections across the formerly free world are hideously compromised (if this seems outrageous to you, insert the Willy Wonka meme here whilst you explain to me how a Democratic presidential candidate loses Florida by 4, Ohio by 8, yet wins…Georgia, while shattering Barack Obama’s vote record by over 10 million).
But as someone who does not want to have to tap the sign, much less get out of my chair, I’d rather find a peaceful way out of all this, and voting is better than nothing, albeit insufficient.
In the United States, you can see they are trying to get the covid band back together in time to fortify this November’s midterms, but it seems doubtful that will work. Besides, it is a bigger lift to manipulate individual district races than to swipe a presidential election, which requires only a few broken pipes and late-night drop-offs in a handful of cities (and sorry, just one more word on that – not since George H. W. Bushwhacked Mike “the Tank” Dukakis, beyond the margin of caterwaul, have the Democrats conceded defeat or failed to screech about some kinda fraud, so I’m disinclined to hear that it’s untoward to question whether Sniffy Joe managed 81 million votes).
All that said, lotta good it will do. If you think Speaker Kevin McCarthy will fix everything, you’re probably due for a booster.
Canada offers a bit more hope (or despondency, if you happen to be Justin). “Cometh the hour, cometh Pierre” is a line I keep trying to make happen.
As a final prediction, in response to questions precisely no one asked me, Pierre Poilievre will win the Conservative Party leadership in a walk, then prevail in the subsequent election in a landslide. This is splendid.
One of the immutable laws of nature is that when somebody solid appears on our side, people who think they know something insist that candidate needs to be more "moderate." This is almost always wrong (just ask President Romney, or Prime Ministers Scheer and O’Toole). In cities particularly, where even people who think they are right-wing walk around with liberal-left assumptions, whether they know it or not, the condition is acute.
Pierre is not one to fall for it. He is not oleaginous like Romney, or insipid like Scheer and O’Toole and, most important, he understands this moment. It is not just a Canadian thing, as I think he comprehends, but a worldwide contest.
To be clear, I don’t work for Pierre, and I have not spoken to him in over a decade. This column does not put its faith in princes. But the fact that he gets it – what you and I and so many others are seeing and living right now – is a breath of fresh air.
When he says he will make Canada the freest country in the world, that’s Jerry Maguire “hello” right there. Yes, he will do infuriating things, he will be wrong and make mistakes. But how long has it been since we’ve had a shot at a leader who speaks of freedom and human flourishing, rather than what you must do and what you can’t have?
If you were one of those who only loves people in groups of a million or more, whose reason for being is derived from controlling others, would you be feeling hopeful right now? Or would the awakening of the population, their voices rising to demand liberty, darken your spirit?
It might be enough to make you shave your head.
Theo Caldwell just wanted to be left alone. Contact him at theo@theocaldwell.com
